Red was the name of the Color
by foldingcranes
Summary: And it's all over the place.


**Red was the name of the Color**

There is a little red house at the end of the road that leads to the outskirts of Napoli, and it's all big, red bricks and flowers that grow and thread into the corners and bindweed that climbs to the walls, tall and stubborn and twisty like a ballerina. The afternoon sun falls upon the place, lightening up the plants in the orchard next to the house where Lovino pulls at the weed that covers his tomatoes.

With a tired sigh and a little bit of sweat on his forehead, he sits on the wet soil and eats one of the tomatoes that he just finished harvesting. It's sweet and a little bit acid and he feels pleased with its texture, for it will be an excellent sauce for his pizzas. It's red and plump and even juicy, and it makes him think about the ones he used to ate so long ago, when he was nothing more than a complicated kid living under the care of Antonio. That man had an exceptional talent for gardening, as the tomatoes he grew were always huge and delicious, dressed in such an amazing color it always made Lovino's mouth water at the sight of them.

He's so lost in the memory of the fruits he ate on his younger days, he doesn't even notice Antonio sitting by his side.

"You've always loved them."

Lovino blinks a couple of times and then turns around to see Antonio's cheery grin, his legs folded and his hands on his knees, his pants already messy with dust. "And where did you come from?"

"You left the grille open, Lovino." Antonio laughs, so rich and warm, so careless. He raises a hand and messes Lovino's hair as he rolls his eyes at him and softly bats his hand away.

"Don't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I say so."

Antonio looks confused for a minute and then settles for staring at him with a curious look and a calmer smile, as Lovino avoids looking at him in the eyes and presses his lips together into a flat line. "That's not a good reason, remember? We've talked about this."

And Lovino closes his eyes together and tries not to think about the nights he spent sleeping on Antonio's orchard, completely alone at his old house, eating tomatoes until he fell so sick he couldn't even stomach them for a while. Until the red of the fruit mixed with the red on Antonio's clothes and the red of the undiserable feelings he kept (keeps) locked up inside his chest.

Red is such a confusing color for him.

(It's so many things, he can't even begin to count them.)

"We've talked about what? About 'just because' not being a real reason for something?" Lovino grunts at him. He dusts off his pants a little and gets up, starting to walk towards the front door. "I don't like it when you do that."

"When I do what?" Antonio asks, and the sole of honesty of the question makes Lovino's stomach curl up a little.

"When you ruffle my hair and get all 'don't do that' on me."

"Why? I'm just being affectionate" Antonio frowns and he's honestly, sincerely _puzzled._ And he can't see it and Lovino hates him a little because of it, and he's alone at the orchard with the tomatoes and the loneliness and the red on his chest and the basket of tomatoes that weighs the same as ever in his arms.

"No, you are just being paternalistic as fuck again."

Antonio bites his tongue and Lovino rolls his eyes **again** and really, is it too much to ask for a little bit of peace? _For once?_

"I'm not." Antonio says. He crosses his arms and stands there, tall and challenging with all different kind of weeds at his feet and for a minute, just for a little minute, Lovino thinks it suits him.

"You are."

Lovino feels so fucking tired he even looks the part.

"Yes, yes you are. You fucking fool."

He closes the door behind his back and Antonio knows for sure he has screwed up. Only, he does not see why and he does not see how and he doesn't really want to _see_ it.

Because he knows he just cares and he cared in the right way, and Lovino is just stubborn and cranky and sure, maybe he pampered him a little bit much.

(But he didn't really do it. And it hurts to know it.)

There are some things he doesn't understand yet. And Lovino's quiet anger is one of them.

(If only his pride would let him see better.)


End file.
